


rain grey

by sohmins



Category: K.A.R.D (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:15:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohmins/pseuds/sohmins
Summary: Sometimes, when Taehyung walks past his neighbor’s house, he steals flowers from her garden because they’re the exact shade of purple that Jiwoo liked . . . but one day his neighbor, Somin, demands to come with him to make sure the girl is “pretty enough to warrant flower theft.”





	rain grey

Something about the rain paints the day as an odd one. There is little sound audible, particularly from the windows, since there is no wind—the rain is pouring down, straight down, and the sound of the drops hitting the asphalt outside is but a faint, incessant hum through the walls. No blue peeks through the thick, dull grey cloud that seems to span over the entirety of the visible sky.

 

It’s the kind of rain that has been going on for days.

 

Taehyung puts on his raincoat, grabs his umbrella, and heads outside.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiwoo liked the color purple. She also liked grey, but Taehyung always told her that it was impossible to find flowers in that color—that he’d have to _draw_ her flowers if she insisted on grey. Laughing, she added purple to his options, because even though she said she hated getting flowers her smile grew brighter whenever Taehyung showed up with them.

 

 

 

 

 

Taehyung has only seen his neighbor a few times—she’s so beautiful it’s intimidating. But he turns away before she can turn to see him not because he’s nervous, but because he doesn’t want her to recognize him as the neighbor that always steals her flowers.

 

Honestly, he can’t help it. Those flowers in her garden are the exact shade that Jiwoo said was her favorite. And it’s not like he can drive to an exotic flower boutique every week to get the flowers—as a university student, he doesn’t have the money, let alone the time. But whenever he sees his neighbor’s garden . . . he can’t help but think of Jiwoo. So he takes a few—always only a few—whenever he walks by.

 

He walks by every week.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiwoo loved the rain. When they walked through it, she insisted on jumping through every puddle, even as Taehyung flinched each time he saw a part of the sky flash out of the corner of his eyes or the sound of thunder resonated in the distance.

 

“Let’s go, it’s _cold_.”

 

She yanked him toward the puddle too. “Quit whining, you’re wearing a jacket.” He stumbled forward, and looking down he saw her Converse, soaked so that the original lavender color now looked dark violet, and his own black combat boots, shiny from the rain.

 

“And you’re not, that’s my point! It’s cold, Jiwoo, and it’s raining.” He missed the chance to facepalm, because a the sudden flash of lightning made him jump. “Don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ when you get sick again.” When she didn’t acknowledge him, looking around for another puddle even though there was water falling from the sky all around them, he grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward her apartment. The things he had to do to drop her home safely.

 

“Why the hell would I _make_ you say that?” she asked, taking bigger strides to keep up with his longer legs, but her voice was drowned out by the thunder. “I hate it when you say that.”

 

“And I hate it when you play in the rain.”

 

He could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes behind him. “Don’t guys usually like that sort of thing?”

 

“The rain, yes. I like the rain.” He pushed open the lobby door, holding it open for Jiwoo as she stepped inside. The ice-cold air conditioning was like a slap in the face, and Jiwoo was shivering. Resisting the urge to sigh, Taehyung wrapped an arm around her to pull her close as they walked to the elevator. “But I _don’t_ like it when you get sick. So no, I don’t like that sort of thing.”

 

 

 

 

 

This particular day is strange. Without looking outside, it should be impossible to tell that it’s raining. It’s pouring, but there’s barely any sound. No lightning, no thunder, just a gloomy tranquility floating over everything, invading every nook and cranny, reminding people that even if they can’t hear it, it’s still raining.

 

That’s the day that Taehyung finally comes face to face with his neighbor. Accidentally, of course.

 

She seems to be trying to enter her house, but between the time he catches sight of her as he leaves his house and the time he passes by her front gate, she’s still working at the lock, and she’s thoroughly drenched since there’s no overhang on her front door. He glances up at the sky—the familiar grey clouds stare back at him. He hates the color grey.

 

And if his neighbor stays out for any longer—since she clearly isn’t making any progress with unlocking her door—then she would definitely get sick.

 

He waits for a few more seconds, glancing between the gate and his struggling neighbor, before pushing the open. “Hey, need a hand?”

 

The girl whirls around, shocked, but oddly not surprised. He walks closer so that he doesn’t have to keep shouting. “Need some help?”

 

Her chocolate brown hair is tousled and stuck to her face because of the rain, the water making it look near black. She pushes it out of her eyes and then nods, coughing, stepping away from the door. “Thank you,” she says, extending her arm to give him the keys.

 

The key only goes halfway through the keyhole, as if it were the wrong key. He glances at her, and she says, “Really, those are the keys.” He turns back to the door. He tries again, this time, jiggling the handle a few times as he tries to make it fit, before the key finally clicks into place and is able to turn.

 

“I think the lock was just misaligned a bit . . . it happens, sometimes.” Taehyung looks at the girl. She’s shivering, but she gives him a grateful smile, her eyes scrunching up. She looks like . . . Taehyung sighs. “You’ll get sick. You should head inside.”

 

“You should come in too,” she says, though she does push the door open to step inside first. Then she turns to look at him. “At least so that I can thank you properly.” She glances at his umbrella, which is still open so that it’s providing a sort of overhang above the door. “Unless you have to be somewhere?”

 

He does, but he decides that he should make sure she gets warm. And besides, she deserves an introduction, especially since he’s stealing from her garden . . . he offers her a small smile and steps inside, closing his umbrella and shaking it off before entering completely.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiwoo was rarely _not_ sick, so when she came down with a fever the next day, neither of them were surprised, though Taehyung did manage to get in an ‘I told you so’ before she punched his arm.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m Jeon Somin,” she says brightly after changing into a fresh set of clothes. (She hadn’t even wanted to change at first, but Taehyung had threatened to leave.) “Thank you, for the help with the door.”

 

“Kim Taehyung. And don’t worry about it.”

 

“You live right next door, right?”

 

“Yeah . . . I just moved in. A couple months ago, actually.”

 

Her hair is still wet, but she wraps it up in a towel on top of her head. “So that’s why I didn’t recognize you. Anyways, where are you headed in _this_ weather?”

 

“Just . . . running some errands,” Taehyung answers vaguely with a smile. He then pointedly looks around the room. “Do you . . . is grey your favorite color?”

 

“Well, it’s nice, I guess,” she replies, shrugging. She glances around her own living room, as if looking at it closely for the first time in a long while. “It’s a really . . . versatile color. It can go with almost any accent color, all while maintaining a sort of relaxing, mellow atmosphere.” She turns to Taehyung. “What’s your favorite color?”

 

“Grey,” he answers reflexively, before slapping himself in the forehead internally. He hates grey.

 

“Really? So how’s the living room, then?” she asks, gesturing to the area.

 

Despite his hatred for the color, the arrangement of the living room is quite nice, creating a comfortable atmosphere. “I like it,” he says, being completely honest.

 

“I’m glad. I’m an interior designer, by the way,” she says, “so that really does mean a lot.”

 

Taehyung leans back in the sofa, which is getting more comfortable by the second. Whether because it’s actually really soft, or because Somin reminds him so much of Jiwoo, he doesn’t know. “An interior designer?” he says, his voice conveying that he is impressed. “Did you design all of this, then?”

 

“Yeah, when my boyfr—I mean, my ex and I were looking for houses, and nothing really seemed right, so we just chose this one and designed the interior ourselves.” Her face falls slightly, and Taehyung looks away.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”

 

She interrupts him by shaking her head. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad it was over before it became permanent, at least.”

 

“Permanent?” Taehyung prods hesitantly.

 

Somin has a tight smile on her face. “Yeah. It . . . it was my bridesmaid.” She clears her throat. “Anyways, what made you move here?”

 

“University,” Taehyung says, and it is true—albeit only partially. “The commute is easier.”

 

Somin nods, and as she looks down at her hands since neither of them know what to say, Taehyung realizes that she’s really pretty, even without makeup. With makeup—which is how he usually sees her, and from afar, of course—she is stunning, but even naturally she looks beautiful. Just like Jiwoo—

 

“You know, I have to get going, actually.” Taehyung stands up. Now that he knows she’s safe and probably not about to get sick, he knows he can’t stay.

 

But she insists on accompanying him, and when his cautious denials based on the fact that the weather is terrible don’t dissuade her, he prepares to just get up and go. And then Somin says, “You can take the flowers on the way out—you can see the bigger ones from this side,” and Taehyung stops and turns to gape at her.

 

She grins. “I see you take them, you know.” She clears her throat, and Taehyung wonders if she actually _is_ getting sick. “I actually stepped out to see if you were coming today too . . . but then I got locked outside and, well . . .” She trails off sheepishly.

 

Taehyung doesn’t know what to say. He blinks a few times, unable to decide if rejecting the offer is a noble move or an asshole one. He doesn’t have to say anything, though, because Somin speak up. “On one condition.”

 

Her tone is playful, and her eyes have a mischievous glint in them, and it’s just like how—

 

“What would that be?”

 

“Let me come with you. I mean, you’ve been stealing the flowers this whole time, so it’s only fair that I make sure the girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft.”

 

 

 

 

 

As he always did when she was sick, Taehyung brought Jiwoo his mom’s homemade soup. His mom may not have liked Jiwoo initially, but she grew to love her since Taehyung loved her.

 

“I . . . I don’t think I can drink any more,” Jiwoo said, pushing the bowl away. She sniffled loudly, and then coughed. “It burns my throat . . .”

 

“That’s okay.” Taehyung picked the bowl up and set it on the counter, intending to refrigerate it so that if Jiwoo wanted it later she could reheat it. “Do you want more water?”

 

“Yeah.” Another round of coughs; these sounded wet and painful. “That sounds nice.”

 

 

 

 

 

Taehyung doesn’t remember agreeing, but he must have been so shocked that he didn’t exactly disagree either. And that’s how Somin, wearing her own, _grey_ , rain jacket, joined him, holding a small bouquet of the biggest, most vividly purple flowers that were in bloom.

 

“So, this _is_ a girl, right?” she asks. “I mean, I don’t want to assume or anything—even though I guess I just did—but I’m just saying that I don’t discriminate or hate if—”

 

“I’m straight,” Taehyung says, because that’s the most simple question he can answer. “But same, I don’t discriminate either.”

 

Somin is walking close to Taehyung so that she can stay under his umbrella—her umbrella had broken, which is why she had been struggling with her door unprotected from the rain. She looks up at him—or tries to, at least, because Taehyung can barely see her face under the oversized hood of her jacket. “So, you always walk to where she lives? Even in the rain?”

 

“Um . . .”

 

“That’s really cute,” she says, and she sounds so wistful that Taehyung’s voice get caught in his throat and he can’t say anything. He needs to say something.

 

They walk without speaking much after that, and Taehyung wishes that he can think faster and figure out exactly how to explain when Somin stops in her tracks, making Taehyung stop as well and nearly causing him to trip in the process. “Shit, sorry . . . ” He trails off as he realizes what she’s staring at, her expression shifting between confusion, disbelief, and what looks like pain.

 

He hadn’t realized how long they’d been walking.

 

“I . . . I’m so . . .” Somin stops herself, because her voice is choking up.

 

Taehyung glances at her, and he knows that he can’t leave her here to go back by herself, but he also can’t go back without leaving the flowers . . . he holds his hand out, offering it to Somin, and she clasps it tightly. It’s almost funny, how he’s the one comforting her. “It’s fine. You didn’t know . . . I didn’t know how to tell you.”

 

“I didn’t _let_ you tell me, did I?” she asks quietly.

 

Rather than nodding, Taehyung leads her into the cemetery.

 

 

 

 

 

Grey had been one of Jiwoo’s favorite colors, so it had also been Taehyung’s. But now he hated grey, because grey was the color of the sky and the clouds and the asphalt of the road and Jiwoo’s skin when he saw her after she—after she—

 

The funeral was plain, simple, and it was so sudden and unexpected because Jiwoo was so young and when he saw her parents grieving he realized how cruel it was when parents had to outlive their children. The picture of Jiwoo that was framed and placed on the altar, surrounded by white flowers, was one of her smiling. It was a formal picture, professionally taken, so it wasn’t her genuine smile—the one that made her front teeth stick out adorably and her eyes curve into heart-warming eye smiles—but she looked so beautiful, so _healthy_ , and her skin was bright and clear and glowing and definitely not a pale, lifeless, unnatural grey.

 

Taehyung hated the color grey.

 

 

 

 

 

They stand in a still silence after setting the flowers down on the plot, the only sound being that of raindrops hitting gravestones. The rain hitting the grass makes almost no sound, and nature seems to absorb any sound that the rain _is_ managing to make—so much so that, really, it might as well not be raining.

 

But the sky is grey and overcast, and the gravestones are grey and depressing, and Taehyung has never hated the color grey as much as he hates it now. It was, it is, it will always be everywhere.

 

 

After a moment, Somin asks him, “Do you miss her?”

 

 

When he replies, his voice is barely above a whisper. “All the time.”

 

 

The rain gets harder, and suddenly it’s much easier to hear it falling. It reminds him of the thunder—deafeningly loud, present, but instead of happening sporadically the sound continues with a melodic consistency.

 

His umbrella is going to break, because now the wind is picking up. So he closes it, holding it down uselessly by his side. His rain jacket protects him slightly, but nothing can protect him completely from this kind of rain. Somin is worse off simply because she is smaller—the rain seems to be beating her down. But she pulls the grey hood of her grey rain jacket tighter around her head and draws the zipper all the way up; then she walks forward to Taehyung, needing to crane her neck to look up at him.

 

Her jacket is grey, but her skin is bright and healthy and her eyes are full of life. Her eyes are looking at him, and she offers him a small smile—one that conveys not happiness, but sympathy—and she takes another step closer. She hugs him.

 

“You’ll always miss her,” Somin says, and even though her voice is at a conversational volume in the heavy rain, she’s so close that he hears her clearly. “It doesn’t . . . it doesn’t go away. But you’ll get used to it, and it gets better.”

 

Taehyung remains still, frozen in position, for a few seconds before he slowly, carefully, moves his arms up and hugs Somin back.

 

She is glad it ended before it became permanent, while he regrets it. Neither of them, though, can change what happened, or even forget it . . . but they can try to move on.

 

They stand like that for a long time, so long that, before they realize, the rain has lightened to a drizzle. But the sky is still cloudy and grey.

 

Her jacket is grey, grey like the gravestone, but on the gravestone the flowers are purple.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/116941769918/awful-au-196). I just had to get this idea written - I could’ve done so much more with this but I don't have the time . . . T-T


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